


Planting for Tomorrow

by Badwolf36



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gardens & Gardening, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36
Summary: Jason Todd used to love gardening. Then April 27 happened. As it turns out, digging yourself up from your grave doesn’t leave the best associations with playing in the dirt.





	1. Chapter 1

Jason Todd used to love gardening.

Before ever letting Jason help in the kitchen, the wise Alfred Pennyworth had put Jason to work in the garden.

Carrots, beets, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries, rhubarb, zucchini, and a wide variety of herbs (cooking and medicinal) were coaxed from the loamy earth by one careful pair of adult hands and one slightly more clumsy pair of preteen hands.

Even years later, Jason fondly remembers hiding his giggles as he, Alfred, and Bruce stuffed their excess of cucumbers into every open nook and cranny of the Gotham City Police Department. Commissioner Gordon had chased them out of the building when he found Jason and Bruce at his desk building a scale model of Blackgate Penitentiary out of the skinny green vegetables.

So when he came back to Gotham properly (months after a revenge that didn’t come to fruition and an odd sort of peace that found him at least on amiable terms with the rest of the bat family), Jason found himself in a mom-and-pop hardware shop looking at seed packets and heavy bags of topsoil.

Bemused, he grabbed packets of cucumbers and carrots, two large, rectangular cedar planter boxes; fertilizer, gravel to provide drainage for the planters, and some bags of enriched soil.

Getting back to his semi-permanent safehouse had required a slightly awkward taxi ride with one of the planters tucked under his legs and the other across his lap.

Lugging said gardening materials up eight flights of stairs had been an exercise in frustration, as the planters proved to be extremely ungainly in the building’s narrow staircase. It was worth it, however, after he lugged the last sack of gravel through the rooftop access that made this safehouse worth keeping.

Inhaling a breath of cleanish air (as clean as Gotham granted this high up), he surveyed the rooftops and skyscrapers glimmering in the mild afternoon sun of a late April day.

Gotham was dirty and sick and broken, but moments like this reminded Jason of why he still fought to save the city from herself.

Turning to the planters, he dragged them into a kitty-corner position from one another a few feet away from the roof’s edge. He spared a moment to consider digging up his reinforced Red Hood gloves, but ultimately decided he was too eager to get started to go looking for them.

Jason pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and flicked it into the open position. Bucking the bag of gravel up onto his knee, he neatly bisected it. He dumped half of it into each planter. Carefully spreading it out evenly with his hands, Jason indulged in remembering doing this with Alfred.

Alfred, who normally abhorred anything less than perfectly prim and proper behavior, had squirted Jason with a hose repeatedly as they tended the tomato plants. Utterly incensed, Jason has responded by hurling the largest, soft-packed dirt clod he could find at the older man.

Regret had filled him in the nanosecond after the clod had left his fingertips, and guilt had dragged down his stomach the moment it impacted with Alfred’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Alfie! I’m so sorry, I…” And then Alfred had turned the hose on him again, soaking him from head to toe. An hour later, Bruce had been _tsk_ ing and spraying them both down from his spot on the back patio (far, far away from potential muddy hugs and soggy pats on the back).

In the present, Jason chuckled to himself, opening up the bag of soil in the same manner as the gravel. He divided it between the two planters, then kneeled down to break up some of the bigger clods. Seconds were all that were needed for him to realize what a mistake he’d made.

Because the dirt crammed under his fingertips is now grave dirt. The thick earth isn’t just clogging his nostrils with its rich smell, but actively obstructing them; filling his mouth and choking the oxygen from his lungs. The sturdy wooden sides of the planters are the walls of his coffin, closing in on him with silk lining and splintered mahogany and no one there to save him but himself.

He’s vaguely aware of someone whimpering. Jason isn’t sure whether he’s hearing his memories or making that wounded noise in the present.

Gasping for air, Jason clawed at his throat. He tripped over his feet and fell backwards to the rough surface of the roof. The motion sent what little air he’d managed exploding out of his lungs.

There’s darkness closing in, dripping from the hole he’s managed to claw in the coffin with his belt buckle. His fingernails are ripped and torn and bloody and he’s in so much pain and the darkness just kept coming, swamping him with tons upon tons of slimy earth.

“Bruce,” he whimpered, breath crushed under ribs that have splintered under a crowbar’s brutal impact.

And then the dirt and darkness blot out of his view of the sun and Jason knows no more.

His very last thought is of seeing the gentle pleasure on Alfred’s face the very first time Jason bit into a deliciously sweet and juicy strawberry they’d grown together.


	2. Chapter 2

“Three inches apart for carrots in a planter like this. You’ll have to remember to thin them out once they really get started, Master Jason.”

Jason groans, awareness coming back to him slowly and with a headache that grips his head like a zip-tie digging into flesh. There’s rough brick against his back and he’s sitting up. Taking a minute to orient himself by sound and smell, he places himself next to the wall by his roof’s escaped rusty door (which likes to creak in even in the mildest of breezes).

Fluttering his eyes open, Jason whimpers as the dim yellow light from the roof’s motion-activated floodlights seeps in.

“Owww.”

“Ah, you’re back with us. I was getting to be a little concerned.”

Jason moves to put his right hand over his face, but freezes halfway through the gesture. Eyelids jolting skywards, he’s expecting to see dirt smeared all over his hands. His breath has already caught in his throat when he realizes that his hands are clean. Turning them both to and fro, he finds there’s not even a speck of dirt under his nails.

Starting to breathe normally, Jason turns his attention to Alfred.

The butler is kneeling at the planter boxes, leather-gloved hands pushing seeds down into the depths hidden from Jason’s view. He’s in his standard uniform, aside from his suit jacket, which is draped over Jason’s lap. Alfred’s pressed black slacks and waistcoat somehow don’t look out of place on the rooftop, and the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt buttoned above his elbow to keep them out of the way.

“Alfie?” he says, managing to pack several questions into the simple utterance.

As usual, Alfred (master of spinning dialogue out of the few words uttered by his usually monosyllabic conversational partners) takes the lead. “A certain Delphinian alerted me to your plight. We’re not sure how long you’ve been up here, but it’s…” Alfred consults his pocket watch. “10:47 now. I took the liberty of moving you out of an uncomfortable position and removing what I perceived to be the source of your distress.”

Jason considers his clean hands again.

“Your perceptions are better than some mind readers I know, Alfie.”

“I’m honored, Master Jason,” Alfred says, briefly stopping his planting to look Jason in the eyes before starting again.

“As for why Oracle was watching this particular rooftop, I think I need to have some words with a certain nosy redhead.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Alfred chastises without changing his even tone in the slightest. “If Miss Gordon had not notified me, you likely would have suffered another attack. You could have been out here all night, Master Jason, and I couldn’t have abided by that. Bad enough that you suffered at all.”

There’s things Jason could say here, hurtful things, but he keeps his mouth shut. Alfred has never earned or deserved any of his hatred.

“Fine,” he mutters in acquiescence. “I’ll send her a cookie bouquet. There’s a new bakery that does ones in the shape of the bat symbol. Bruce oughta sue.”

“If Wayne Enterprises had the rights to the symbol, I’m sure our rabid pack of lawyers would set upon those hapless bakers forthwith. But W.E. doesn’t, so they won’t. I’m sure Miss Gordon would appreciate the gesture. She’s also fond of St-Germain, that elderflower liqueur.”

“Alright, alright.” Jason starts rubbing his fingertips over the fine fabric of Alfred’s suit jacket, trying to ground himself. He pauses as something occurs to him. “It’s only you here, right? The whole family isn’t going to descend on me in a second. Oh god, please don’t send me to Arkham!”

He’s not sure why he spooled up so quickly, but now that the anxiety has his claws in him, he’s struggling to draw breath again.

Alfred is by his side quickly though, his ungloved hands (when did that happen?) cupping Jason’s face.

“Master Jason. Jason! You aren’t going anywhere, not without my say-so, and particularly not in your condition. I am not letting you go again, my boy. Do you understand?”

Jason’s hands reach up, clenching around Alfred’s biceps. His eyes keep darting and sliding past the older man’s, but eventually he catches sight of the genuine love and concern in those tired old eyes. It’s calming, just like it always has been.

Unconsciously, he starts matching his breaths to Alfred’s; the slow, easy cadence soothing.

“Are you back with me?”

“Yes,” Jason says, dropping his gaze to his lap. Alfred pats his cheeks before releasing him, retreating across the rooftop to give Jason his space.

There’s silence between them for several minutes. Alfred puts his gloves back on and starts planting the second cedar box with cucumbers.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone, today of all days.” The words are so quiet Jason nearly doesn’t hear them.

But then his mind flashes to seeing the date-a-day calendar behind the cashier’s stand in the hardware store.

_April 27._

“Oh,” he says softly. “I…this was…huh.” He chuckles softly, even though it’s not funny and makes Alfred grimace. “You’d think I would have remembered the day I…”

“Don’t,” Alfred says.

“ _Died_.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone, Master Jason. Not back then and not now. I should have never left you alone.”

Jason feels remarkably shaky, but he finds the strength to stand, catching Alfred’s jacket in his fist before it can fall to the rooftop. He crosses to the elderly man, who has stripped off one of his gloves to bury his face in his hand.

“I should never have left you alone,” he continues to mutter.

Jason breathes in grave dirt as he drapes Alfred’s jacket over the older man’s shoulders and grips them both. He wonders when Alfred got frail as he rubs his thumbs over the thin collarbones he can feel beneath the fabric.

“Look…I…you never did wrong by me, Alfie. Not once.”

Alfred moves his hand and Jason sees that his eyes have already gone red-rimmed with unshed tears.

“I’m afraid that is one point you can’t change my mind on, Master Jason, but I appreciate you trying.” He removes the other gardening glove, setting it with its mate on the corner of the planter with the carrots. “I should have done more, but as I often tell Master Bruce, ‘Regret is like a bottomless pit. It will swallow you whole if you don’t rise above it.’”

Jason turns that over in his head. “You always were quick with advice. Even if none of us listen to it like we should.”

He offers his hand and Alfred takes it. Helping the other man to his feet only takes a few seconds. Alfred unbuttons his shirt cuffs and rolls them back down before he takes the coat over his shoulders and dons it.

“You’re not wrong, Master Jason. You’re not wrong.”

Jason’s not sure what comes over him. Maybe it’s the anxiety. Maybe it’s the depression. Maybe it’s the panic attacks. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the anniversary of the day he _died_. But he can’t be alone right now, and there’s no reason for Alfred to stay. Patrols will be starting soon, if they haven’t already. And despite Alfred’s earlier words, Jason knows better than to think the older man will stick around now that his extra work is done (plant a tiny garden and make sure Jason didn’t die of exposure).

It’s all those reasons together that make him step forward and hug Alfred.

There’s momentary shock, then “Oh, my dear boy,” and Alfred’s arms are around him in return.

Words start spilling out of Jason. “I know you probably have to get going, but I’ve got a great Darjeeling blend and maybe you could have a cup before you go and…”

But Alfred interrupts him with a hearty squeeze to his ribs.

“Master Jason, there is nowhere I have to be tonight, nowhere I’d rather be, than right here with you.”

“Good,” Jason says. “That’s…yes. Thanks, Alfred.”

“I love you, my boy. There’s nothing to thank.”

And if, as they head in for tea, both of them have to surreptitiously look away from one another to brush away tears, well, neither of them mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one, folks. Thanks for any comments!


End file.
